


Nipping at Your Nose

by missmichellebelle



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Jack Frost - Freeform, M/M, Romance, Snow Sprite, Winter Sprite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-12-20 12:39:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmichellebelle/pseuds/missmichellebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Make me mortal." He looks at Father Winter again, and he can tell the season is surprised by his suggestion. “Let me go to earth."</p><p>"You are a sprite, Kurt. That is what you were made to be."</p><p>"Give me a chance," Kurt begs. “Give me a chance to be human. I can do it—I can be a human."</p><p>"Then you must prove it," Father Winter responds, his voice calm. “Mortals require necessities to live by, and to be a mortal, you must have those things." His voice turns booming and ominous, surrounding Kurt like a fierce cyclone. “To remain human, you must attain shelter, a means to support yourself, and the reason you long for this mortal life—you must win the love of another." The wind presses close. “You have until the end of winter. Then, you will turn back into a sprite. Do you accept these terms?"</p><p>"I do."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nipping at Your Nose

The first time Kurt sees Blaine, he’s bundled up tight against the winter chill, huddled low in his scarf to keep his nose safe from the wind. He can’t see Kurt—no one can see snow sprites, not since Jack Frost himself—but that just makes it easier for Kurt to flit around him. He skates frost along the sidewalk, whistling the wind so much that Blaine has to stop and actually brace himself against it. But he doesn’t seem annoyed; he looks up at the sky, smiling, and shakes his head.

Kurt takes the opportunity to tap his finger to Blaine’s nose, feeling a trill of victory as it roses from the cold.

It’s not the first time Kurt has followed a human around—he doesn’t do it every day, of course, because there’s no reason for him to go inside places and Blaine doesn’t stay out for long. Sometimes, though, he walks through the park, and Kurt likes to turn his breath white because it makes him look so happy.

Blaine likes the cold. He whistles through it, and then Kurt joins in with him, even though his whistle summons the snow to fall and the frost to creep. Sometimes Blaine sings, low and quiet, all by himself. He’s always all by himself, and Kurt wishes that, when he reached to hold Blaine’s hand, it did more than make him suddenly need to rub them together for warmth.

Kurt isn’t sure if he’s ever been human. If he was, he doesn’t remember it. He can’t fathom ideas of heat, or touch, or warmth. He doesn’t know much about humanity, but Blaine seems willing to fill in those gaps without knowing that he’s doing so. Humans can’t withstand the cold the way Kurt can, and humans get to stay on earth in the summer and spring (when Kurt has to withdraw to the colder places up in the skies). Humans have to eat, and Blaine eats all the times, and at night, when Kurt is turning the world white, Blaine has to sleep.

The longer Kurt spends around Blaine, the more he finds himself having strange urges—like wanting to brush smudges from the edge of Blaine’s lips, or to pull the fabric of his clothing tighter when he shivers in the chill Kurt spreads around him. Most of all, though, Kurt wants Blaine to  _see_  him. He wants Blaine to talk to him, and he wants to be the one who makes Blaine laugh. He wants to know why Blaine is alone so much, and why sometimes he sits on the bench in the park and looks so sad.

The more winters Kurt spends with Blaine, the more the thought becomes real to him—he wants to be human.

*

Fall is becoming colder and colder when Father Winter summons Kurt. Normally, the snow sprites become dormant all through spring and summer, shaken to consciousness when the leaves start golding and slipping loose from the trees. But even then, they’re hardly ever called in front of Winter himself. Kurt is nervous, there’s no way he can’t be—has he done something wrong?

"You’ve been distracted," Father Winter says, and Kurt immediately knows what this is about. They’ll make him leave New York, leave Blaine. Have his winters been failing because of it?

"Yes," Kurt admits, standing tall, because there’s no hiding things from Father Winter—there never is, and Kurt should be surprised he hasn’t been called there before.

"Tell me."

Kurt hesitates now. Blaine is not something he’s shared with anyone, not any of the other sprites. Blaine is special, Blaine is  _his_ , Blaine is the reason the snow sticks so long and the frost comes so easily. He makes Kurt sing his winters long and beautiful and full. He makes Kurt feel like  _more_.

"I’m in love," he says, without thinking. He isn’t even sure what love is, only that he’s heard of it before, but the word fits right in his mouth. He imagines Blaine’s face, and the word  _feels_  right.

"Love." Father Winter rolls the word around, and Kurt wonders if he knows it, if the word makes sense to him. “With a mortal?"

Kurt nods, this time without hesitation, and Father Winter’s wise, wrinkled face becomes set with a deep frown.

"This troubles me, young sprite."

It troubles Kurt, too. Blaine doesn’t know him, or that he exists, and suddenly Kurt feels like he’s in pain. It troubles Kurt, because he’s a sprite—an invisible, ageless being that humans don’t even  _believe_  in—and Blaine is a human. A short-lived, death-susceptible human. Kurt’s breath comes short, because, one day, Blaine is going to die.

"Father Winter, please," Kurt gasps suddenly, looking up at him pleadingly. “Make him into a sprite, I beg you." He will never age, or become hurt, or fall to the dark shadow of death. He’ll be with Kurt, for always.

"You know that is not something I can control."

Kurt does not know how sprites become sprites. He doesn’t even know how he came to be, just that one day he was.

How else can he protect Blaine? How else can he be with him? Is there any way to preserve a mortal, to make them last longer?

Father Winter will not know, and Kurt can’t even fathom who else could have such powers. Does he watch Blaine live out his life? Always watching, never touching or talking or helping? Blaine could fall into a river, and Kurt’s hand would pass right through him, would… Would  _freeze_  him. If he cannot make Blaine a sprite, if he cannot be with Blaine that way, then…

"Make me mortal." He looks at Father Winter again, and he can tell the season is surprised by his suggestion. “Let me go to earth."

"You are a sprite, Kurt. That is what you were made to be."

"Give me a chance," Kurt begs. “Give me a chance to be human. I can do it—I can be a human."

"Then you must prove it," Father Winter responds, his voice calm. “Mortals require necessities to live by, and to be a mortal, you must have those things." His voice turns booming and ominous, surrounding Kurt like a fierce cyclone. “To remain human, you must attain shelter, a means to support yourself, and the reason you long for this mortal life—you must win the love of another." The wind presses close. “You have until the end of winter. Then, you will turn back into a sprite. Do you accept these terms?"

"I do."

*

The next thing Kurt knows is that he is uncomfortable. He knows instantly that he’s surrounded by snow, but it is not snow the way he knows it. It touches him in horrible ways, and he shudders all over. Kurt can  _feel_ , but the only thing he feels is  _numb_. He’s shaking, violently shaking, and so… So…  _Cold_. This is what cold feels like. Kurt is  _cold_.

"Oh my god!"

He feels so very… Tired, like he’s about to shut down for the long, warm months.

"Excuse me? Sir?"

Is this what death is like? Mortal for so short a time, and so easily death comes to greet him? Did he make a mistake?

"Can you hear me?  _Shit_."

No, no. Kurt struggles, and he groans—groans out loud, and his breath fogs the air.

"Thank god, you’re alive. I don’t—"

He can’t die. He needs to find Blaine, see Blaine, talk to Blaine.

"Blaine."

"…do I know you?"

*

It is the opposite of cold. Kurt must be  _warm_. The sensation is fascinating, bleeding through him in ever direction. He has only ever heard of warm, but now he  _is_. Something soft brushes against cheek and his skin, and Kurt doesn’t feel so very tired anymore. There is no snow, Kurt  _knows_  snow, but instead there is color and warmth. Kurt is  _inside_  someplace.

"Oh!"

Kurt knows that voice. He twists his head from where he’s lying down, and—yes, it’s Blaine. Blaine, dressed so lightly, because it’s  _warm_ , there’s no need for his heavy fabrics, and staring at Kurt strangely.

"You’re awake, I—I’m sorry. I should have taken you to a hospital, but my apartment was closer, and I was afraid you were going to get hypothermia. Your clothes were so _thin_ , you were just… Lying in the snow, unconscious, are you okay? Did someone leave you there?"

Blaine’s  _talking to him_. His voice is so lovely, so full and musical and warm.

"I… I can take you now? You should probably have a doctor take a look at you. I, um, sorry, I tried to see if you have a wallet, but I could’t find one. Do you have a name?"

"Kurt." He doesn’t know a lot of what Blaine is talking about, but it doesn’t matter. Because he  _can_  talk to Blaine.

"Well, Kurt. My name’s Blaine. But…" His dark eyebrows furrow. “I have a feeling you know that?"

Kurt nearly nods, when he remembers that Blaine doesn’t know him. All the years that Kurt has known Blaine, he has been nothing but a nip at his nose, a chill in his fingers, the wind against his cheeks. Kurt is a feeling, a cold feeling, and Blaine doesn’t know him. He falls silent, and turns his face into the fabric against his cheek. It’s soft, and plush, and warm.

Then Blaine is suddenly closer, not touching but close enough for Kurt to touch. He wants to, but he doesn’t.

"Have we met?" Blaine asks, his voice soft and curious. He doesn’t seem scared. Kurt’s chest feels tight.

"No," Kurt whispers, and glances down. He plays with the soft edge of the fabric draped over him. "…I do know you, but. We’ve never met." Kurt bites his lip, glances up. “But please do not be afraid."

"…I think I’m more weirded out than afraid." Blaine sits back on his heels, tilts his head curiously. “Did we go to school together?"

Kurt shakes his head, and Blaine furrows his eyebrows in concentration.

"Blaine," Kurt says softly, and the name feels like it’s so much more than a name when he speaks it. Maybe Blaine hears it in his voice. “You have never seen me before."

"Then how do you know me?"

There isn’t a lie that Kurt can tell, and he wouldn’t want to. There’s an earnestness in Blaine’s eyes, an innocence, and Kurt has a fierce urge to protect it.

"You wouldn’t believe me if I told you." Kurt feels small, even just admitting it.

"Try me." Blaine crosses his arms, tilting his head, eyebrows lowered in a challenge. Kurt plays with the fabric more—so soft, so  _warm_ , he finds himself becoming very fond of the sensations—and let’s out a slow breath.

"Have you ever heard of Jack Frost?" Kurt starts, unsurely.

Blaine blinks, suddenly looking very puzzled, but he nods—humans have, if anything, heard myths and tales. Many of them are false, or ridiculously fabricated, especially since Jack Frost is one sprite and he can’t exactly be everywhere at once in the winter. It’s not as if he’s Santa Claus.

"Well, Jack Frost is… A winter sprite. A frost sprite, even, or a snow sprite, they’re sometimes called. The original one, which is why he’s so famous, but he’s just… The one." Kurt stumbles over the words. He’s never had to explain this to anyone. Everyone knows what a snow sprite is, knows just by  _looking_  at Kurt that’s what he is. He’s never had to tell someone before. “There are thousands of them. Hundreds of thousands. Nearly one for every city, bringing winter isn’t exactly  _easy_  or quick." He can’t meet Blaine’s eyes, although maybe he should. Isn’t that how humans communicate the truth? He doesn’t know enough about their customs.

"That’s what I am. I’m a snow sprite. Except… I’m human, now." He won’t tell Blaine why, or how, it happened. Especially since Kurt isn’t quite sure of the  _how_  of it all. As for the why…? Blaine doesn’t know him, doesn’t understand. Maybe one day, Kurt can tell him. But not yet.

"You’re… A snow sprite." Blaine’s mouth forms over the words as if they’re extremely foreign to him.

"Was. I was one, yes."

"So like… Some sort of fairy?"

"…what’s a fairy?" It’s Kurt’s turn to look confused, and Blaine let’s out a surprised laugh.

"I…" He runs a hand over his face, and looks at Kurt a little unsurely. “I really think we should get you to the hospital."

"There’s nothing wrong with me." Kurt feels indignant. He doesn’t know why Father Winter felt it necessary to drop him in a snow bank, but he’s fine now. There’s warmth in his limbs, in ways Kurt has never known before.

"Well… I’ll feel better once a doctor looks at you."

"…you don’t believe me," Kurt says plainly, but it hurts. He swallows thickly and doesn’t understand why he suddenly feels so horrible. “I told you that you wouldn’t."

"Kurt, I… You’re asking me to give you a lot of faith. I don’t even know you, and it’s like you just told me Santa Claus is real."

"Santa Claus is real." Kurt’s eyebrows furrow. “He’s just a very clever magician, he’s very talented at fabricating memories, it’s really—"

"Just." Blaine holds up his hand, and Kurt’s words fall silent. “Just. Let a doctor look at you, okay?"

Kurt can really do nothing more than relent.

*

There’s nothing wrong with Kurt. Or so the doctor tells Blaine.

"Physically, he’s perfectly fine… He knows what year it is, but can’t seem to remember his birthday or age. He doesn’t recall his last name, either, so he might have a very mild case of amnesia, but it should clear up the longer he’s around things that are familiar."

Blaine frowns, staring through the window and into the examination room where Kurt is sitting, staring intently as a nurse talks to him.

"So he hit his head?"

Kurt smiles at something Blaine can’t hear.

"I’m not sure. I couldn’t find any signs of an injury, but it would explain why you found him unconscious. But he isn’t showing many other signs of head trauma. He’s speaking clearly, his body is functioning normally…"

Blaine nearly tells the doctor about the whole “snow sprite" thing that Kurt had told him earlier. Surely that’s some sign of instability? Maybe a side effect of head trauma? But aside from that one thing, Kurt seems perfectly sane and normal. He stares at the world with both a wonder Blaine hasn’t experienced since he’s a child and a wisdom that always sparkled out of his grandfather’s eyes before he passed away. Blaine isn’t sure how he manages to look so old and so young at the same time.

"…contact information. He may well be homeless, so we’ll probably point him in the direction of one of the shelters nearby."

There’s a poinsettia in the room with Kurt, and once the nurse is gone, he reaches out to touch it. Blaine can’t help but watch him, at the way his eyebrows furrow and his fingers pet over the petals like he’s not quite sure what to do with them.

Taking home a stranger is not something Blaine often does. He drops change he can spare, buys an extra cup of coffee or two when he can afford it and gives them away, but he doesn’t do things like that. He isn’t sure what made him, except… He does know. Kurt is  _beautiful_. If things like snow sprites did exist, it’d be easy to believe that Kurt was one. He doesn’t look like he’s of their world, with eyes that shine a winter’s blue and the elegant cut and flow of his limbs.

For some reason, Blaine can’t just let Kurt wander into a shelter. He knows nothing about him, nothing at all, but there’s something about the way he touches a flower like it’s the most precious thing in the entire world that pulls at something in Blaine—something deep, something protective.

"No," Blaine says abruptly, and the doctor turns to look at him. “No, I took him in and he can come home with me." Kurt turns then, catching Blaine’s eyes through the glass, and the way he  _looks_  at Blaine… Blaine doesn’t know why he does it, but he knows that no one has ever looked at him that way. He knows that Kurt is special, can feel it in his bones, and to have Kurt look at him like that…

"I’ll be responsible for him."


End file.
